Chicken-Born
by Zommie
Summary: Mordyn, escaped prisoner and soon-to-be Dragonborn, becomes a pariah in Riverwood by committing an unforgivable crime after a night of drinking with Ralof. Refusing to believe Ralof's explanation he sets off to discover the truth and redeem himself in the eyes of those he once considered friends. In doing so he discovers a conspiracy that is pervasive throughout Skyrim.
1. Slip of the Sword

It was well after the sun had set when Mordyn finally stumbled out of the Sleeping Giant Inn with Ralof at his side. Both men clung to each other for support as they exited the inn, struggling to find their balance after their celebratory drinks after surviving the dragon attack at Helgen had gotten out of hand. However if there was ever a time to get well and truly sloshed on Nord mead, Mordyn reasoned, a day when you survived both an execution and a dragon attack, not to mention a tomb full of draugr, wasn't a bad time to start.

Ralof was still singing verses from Ragnar the Red that the rest of the Inn's patrons had started before they left. Without the buzz of noise and variance that came from singing in a group however Mordyn had to say he was enjoying the song a lot less than he had at the bar. Ralof was on a particularly high and warbling note that his rough voice was beating at relentlessly when Mordyn tapped his friend to get his attention and stop him from singing- mostly to stop him from singing.

"Ralof!" Mordyn hissed at his compatriot, "We got a…itssa…Issa problem…look…"

Ralof broke off from his song to blearily glance in the generally pointed at direction that Mordyn was trying to hold steady as his arm swayed.

"It's a…step?" he asked as if not completely sure.

"Five," Mordyn stated with rock solid surety, "It's at least five steps."

The two men peered over the edge that separated them from the Sleeping Giant Inn and the dirt road of Riverwood. Jutting wooden boards served to create the 'at least 5' step impasse that lay between the two friends and the path back to their bedrolls. It was perhaps a foot and a half from the platform to the ground, but the dozen meads they had guzzled together made the drop induce vertigo.

"I'm not sure about this Mordyn…" mumbled Ralof as he swayed unsteadily over the precipice, "Maybe Delphine can get us two cots back inside. Hell I'll pay her so we don't have to face Gerdur in this state. She'll hang our hides out to dry."

"Erm…" Mordyn began.

"Where do you think those tanning racks all over town came from eh?" he asked with a wry grin.

Mordyn huffed as he clapped his companion on the back, "No sweat Ralof. If we can face off an imperial patrol and a dragon attack then stairs aren't gonna stop us!"

Ralof grinned widely, wagging a finger at Mordyn, "You may be right at that Breton, you may be right at-waugh!"

Ralof stumbled back, lost his footing and landed flat on his back on the dirt road. He chuckled wheezily.

"Ahh Mordyn my friend. I am glad to have met you. With you at our side Skyrim will belong to its true sons and daughters once again," Ralof hoisted himself up until his elbows to grin lopsidedly at Mordyn, "We have a bond now you and I. Blood and mead form fast friends my father used to say, temper that with a little dragon fire and we might just have something glorious."

That was when Embry decided to stagger out of the Sleeping Giant and piss off the balcony, completely ruining the mood. He leered over at them until he was done, pulling up his trousers and mumbling something that sounded a lot like 'get a room'. Mordyn waited till the drunk slammed the door to the Inn shut before shaking his head and making an attempt to reach his friend on the path.

It was a good effort, the first three steps falling under a whirling salvo of cross-footed stumbling before the gap between the fourth and fifth plank caught the toe of his boot and sent him sprawling after Ralof. Mordyn groaned as he lay face down in the dirt. They had had far too much to drink. He was just happy that it was late enough that most people were either in the Inn or in their own homes by now. It wouldn't do for Gerdur to wander out and see the man she'd entrusted to go secure the Jarl's help against a possible dragon attack lying in a pool of his own vomit.

No he certainly wouldn't want to let them down like that. Mordyn had been surprised at how welcoming the small village had been to an outsider like him, especially during a time of civil war. Gerdur offering him whatever supplies he may need for his journey ahead and the blacksmith giving a crash course in his craft, even letting Mordyn keep his efforts after supplying the materials. Divines the children had even asked a complete stranger to play hide and seek with them!

Ralof had regained his feet and was standing over Mordyn, grinning with an outstretched arm offering assistance. The man looked almost recovered from the mead. Damn Nords and their constitutions. A blow to the head was all that was needed to set them right it seemed.

"Thanks friend, " Mordyn chuckled as Ralof helped him up, "At this rate with us defeating Imperials, dragons and stairs we'll own half of Skyrim by Loredas!"

Ralof laughed, "And on Sundas we come back here to plot the rest of our conquest!"

He drew his sword then, managing on the second try, and struck a jokingly menacing pose, "Don't get too far ahead of yourself though Breton. Skyrim belongs to the Nords."

Mordyn drew up his hands in mock surrender, "Save it for the Imperials Stormcloak. By Oblivion after how they almost executed us it will be good to see those pretentious city slickers get what they deserve."

"On that we agree Mordyn," grinned Ralof lowering his sword slightly, "You're with us then?"

"Most certainly am!" Mordyn declared, moving to draw his sword from its scabbard in order to hoist it aloft in a show of solidarity. Unfortunately the scabbard decided to come along for the ride as the blade stuck stubbornly and both were pulled free from his belt. Ralof almost fell over laughing.

"Well I'm sure any Imperial would be shaking in their boots," Ralof wheezed through his laughter, "Should give you plenty of time to eventually draw your sword!"

"Shut up!" growled Mordyn as he struggled with his scabbard, gripping the end of the sheathe with his feet as he tugged at the hilt, "It must be the blood from those wolves we ran into before town that's the problem. Thought I cleaned the damn thing… the blasted blade keeps sticking."

"It's those spindly Breton twigs you call arms that are the problem. Here, let a Nord show you how it's done," stated Ralof as he strode forward, flexing his biceps.

"No, hang on!" Mordyn huffed as he adjusted his hold on the scabbard, tucking it under his arm for better leverage as he continued to pull incessantly at the hilt, "I felt it shift a bit just now. If I can just-"

The sword flew free of its sheathe and out of control, slipping from Mordyn's grasp. An unsuspecting chicken which until then had been innocently minding its own business met its untimely demise as the blade sliced clean through its neck. Despite the sudden manner of its expiration the chicken in question still managed to let out a death squawk that echoed throughout the village of Riverwood.

"Oh shit!" Mordyn exclaimed as he quickly knelt at the deceased fowl's body and retrieved his blade, "I killed the damn thing! Oh shit Ralof I'm sorry it was a complete acci-"

Mordyn cut off as he turned to see the look of absolute horror that had frozen over his friend's features.

"Eh Ralof? Look I'm sorry about the chicken, but you're kind of freaking me out right now."

"This is bad Mordyn…really bad," Ralof said softly, still retaining a sickly complexion, "You need to get out of here fast, before someone sees what you've-"

They were interrupted as the tavern door burst open to reveal Embry and Sven the bard who had come to investigate the noise.

"What in Oblivion is that racket!?" demanded Sven, glaring daggers at Mordyn. It seemed the man still had not forgiven him for his deception on Faendal's behalf.

"No-one in the tavern can hear my fiftieth repetition of Ragnar the Red! If you two don't…" he trailed off as he regarded the scene at Mordyn's feet, his face going cold and dark.

"By the nine…" Embry intoned as he also caught sight of the fowl homicide that had taken place.

"Everyone!" shouted Sven, rousing the already half roused villagers after the chicken's last squawk, "The newcomer killed a chicken! The bastard killed it right in the damned street!"

He turned to sneer at Mordyn.

"I knew you were trouble Breton! Now you're about to get what you had coming."

The town gathered almost unbelievably quickly with even the children being roused to witness Mordyn's transgression. Soon he found himself almost surrounded by a mob consisting of the entire town. Mordyn could tell they were a mob by the profoundly unsettling open hatred in their expressions.

Even the Valerius siblings who he had helped with their claw trouble as soon as he had returned and Faendal who had pledged his loyalty to him were fixing him with the same glare. Mordyn's gaze settled on Gerdur who had been so helpful in helping him prepare to set out for his journey and cringed as he saw the same look again on her face. Unbidden images of the tanning racks in front of almost every house came to mind.

"Now look Gerdur Ralof and I were just having a few drinks and…clearly things got out of hand, that is to say this was an honest mistake and I can see that you…that everyone… is rather…upset," Mordyn babbled as he backed a away from the mob who appeared to be unsheathing their weapons, "I'm a bit low on coin, but I'm sure we can work something out! I could…I'll work at the mill! Till it's paid off! How much does a chicken cost anyway? How about that? Come on Ralof back me up here!"

None of his words seemed to have an effect on the crowd that was growing increasingly hostile. Alvor, who had been so patient earlier when teaching him to forge and improve daggers, was readying a war hammer that looked diminutive in his large hands. The others were also busy readying their respective weapons. Ralof turned to regard him sadly.

"I'm sorry Mordyn. There is no talking them down I'm afraid."

"What?" asked Mordyn incredulously, "Come on! There has to be some way we can work this out? By the crypt it's only a chicken!"

Mordyn immediately saw this was the wrong thing to say as the man he had thought to be his friend's expression hardened. Ralof opened his mouth to reply, but Alvor chose that moment to charge and swing at Mordyn with his war hammer. Slow to react Mordyn caught a glancing blow to the shoulder that was enough to send him sprawling to the ground.

He had barely recovered before Sigurd came lunging at him with a dagger, forcing him to roll back out of reach. His movement put him closer to the children which caused the two to scream in alarm and scamper to hide behind a barrel by the inn where Embry and Stump were already cowering. The rest of the town had no such worries as they advanced on Mordyn with their weapons drawn and expressions filled with pure hatred.

Bewildered and terrified Mordyn turned and fled out onto the road. Behind him he could hear the slow lumbering foots as Alvor gave chase soon joined by a clattering stampede as the rest of the town hurried towards the hunt. Pumping his legs as fast as they would pump Mordyn quickly made for the bridge, crossing and heading for the forest in the hopes he could lose them in the trees. The forest whipped by, rabbits and the occasional deer scattering at his sudden passage. As soon as he'd rounded a bend and felt he was suitably shielded from view he crouched down and cut sharply left and up the mountain. He made quickly for an outcrop of rocks which had a large old and weathered tree leaning against it for support.

Tucking himself into the shelf and laying down flat he tried to peek out to find out what had become of his pursuers. Looking down the Cliffside it seemed the villagers had not made it this far yet. It was almost a full minute before Alvor came huffing and puffing around the bend. He hesitated momentarily as he looked down the path to see that Mordyn had vanished. As the other villagers arrived, instead of continuing down the road or returning to Riverswood as Mordyn had hoped, they fanned out to search the surrounding area.

He tucked himself back behind the cover of the rocks and tree, trying desperately to hold back his hard breathing after his getaway sprint. What in Oblivion had he done by killing that damned chicken that had caused the entire blasted town to decide to kill him!? He had been told that some folk in the North were backwards, but this was to an entirely different degree. This was utter madness. Well as long as they didn't check his rocks behind the tree.

"Hey," someone sounding suspiciously like Sven shouted, "Try checking behind the tree with all those rocks around it."

Damn. Mordyn was really beginning to hate that particular Nord. Surely though his particular chosen hiding spot wasn't the only tree surrounding by rocks in the area. This was Skyrim by the divines! The infernal place was practically littered with rocks and trees. Skyrim! Come and see our rocks and trees! Oh and please feel free to take some home with you!

In any case Mordyn prepared himself for the eventuality of a sudden discovery. Taking stock of his weapons he realized he had dropped his sword, the cause of this whole mess, back at the village. That left him with only the dagger Alvor had helped him forge and the spells he had pilfered from that corpse back in the Imperial torture chamber. Not much to work with. The spells weren't particularly powerful to begin with and once his magicka ran out he didn't put much stock in his ability to hold off an enraged blacksmith with a war hammer with a dagger, no matter how well forged or 'fine' it was.

He lay as still as he could for what felt like a half hour before he felt something tug at his leg. Trying to stifle a yelp he scrabbled to turn himself to face whoever had found him, clutching the dagger with white knuckle intensity in one hand while a flames spell flared to life in the other. It was Ralof.

"Easy there Mordyn! Easy…" he held out both hands to show that he was unarmed, but Mordyn kept both dagger and spell trained on him as he looked around wildly for any sign of the other villagers. They appeared to be alone.

"Look, I'm sorry about what happened…" Ralof began as hysterical laughter began to bubble forth from Mordyn.

"Oh you're sorry?" he asked quizzically tilting his head as if the meaning eluded him, "Sorry you're your village and family tried to kill me over a fucking chicken!? That they turned on me without even giving me a chance to explain myself."

He began laughing again, louder than before.

"Mordyn listen!" Ralof tried again, "It's not their fault, it's just that a Nord's breakfast is really bland and without enough eggs most of the village will have to go without and…"

"I'm sorry," Mordyn injected, suddenly dead sober with a cold anger beginning to build up inside of him, "Are you saying that they want to kill me because they will have to go without egg for breakfast?"

"Well pigs are so rare in Skyrim that bacon is for rich folk only and porridge gets so tiring after a while. We need the protein you know? Besides-"

"Wait a second. What about the other chickens in Riverwood? I must have seen at least two others." Mordyn interrupted.

"But that's not enough for everyone you see?" Ralof supplied lamely, looking away.

"Is this a joke?" Mordyn asked, not in the least bit amused, with the cold fury building up again inside of him, "I'm finding it extremely difficult to believe your ridiculous line of reasoning. What you said doesn't make their actions any more rational. You're hiding something!"

"Believe what you will," sighed Ralof reaching behind his back to pull out a small sack of supplies.

He handed them over to Mordyn. The sack contained a collection of apples, sweet rolls and a small cut of dried meat.

"Couldn't get your sword you understand," Ralof apologized, "Alvor…requisitioned it."

"In any case," Ralof continued looking ashamed as he tried to meet Mordyn's eyes, "I was hoping you could still consider doing that thing you said you were going to help out with. For Riverwood I mean…you know and warn people about the dragon?"

Mordyn glared daggers at the man as he stowed the supplies.

"How did you guess that I love helping people that want to kill me?" he asked, his voice dripping venomously.

"Erm…" Ralof stared dejectedly at the ground.

Making a disgusted sound Mordyn stood, checking once again to make sure the other villagers were nowhere in sight.

"Luckily for you this was only the second most terrifying experience of my life," sneered Mordyn, "I'm not about to leave children to dragon fire."

"But…" said Mordyn as he walked up to stand right before Ralof before spitting at his feet, "This does not make us right. You and your insane backwards village are no friends of mine."

Ralof looked away, "You know if you send guards to Riverswood you could pay off your bounty. You wouldn't exactly be welcome, but at least they wouldn't be trying to kill you anymore."

Mordyn's only answer was to spit at Ralof's feet again and walk away towards Whiterun. There was something else going on here. Something sinister at play. And he was going to find out the truth.


	2. Roof Overhead

**A/N Just wanted to state before I continued further that I generally plain just don't enjoy fanfiction that puts a character on the rails of the canon story and acts as if it is original. Especially in a game like TES where there is such an abundance of lore, characters, quests and factions to explore the usually spiel of the escape from Helgen and discovery of the Dragonborn becomes tiring. This is exacerbated when dialogue is kept almost identical to the original.**

**I have to apologize then that I will be going a bit on the rails for this chapter, but will be keeping dialogue as original as possible. The only time reiterated dialogue will occur is when I am poking fun at a particular line. The next chapter, I promise will be much more off track and original than this one. Please enjoy.**

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><p>For all the cold, dragons, civil war and bloodthirsty townsfolk Mordyn had to admit that Skyrim did look quite beautiful under a rising sun. Perhaps it had something to do with the overabundance of rocks and trees he had so perceptively noticed before.<p>

In any case as Mordyn scaled down the mountainside to find the road again he found himself in a considerably better mood than he had been hours before. Of course a few hours ago he was being hunted down by what he had previously believed to be a friendly and accepting village…over a chicken.

Even now, after some rest and clearing his head, he could not make sense of what had happened last night. It was just…how sudden and drastic the change was. He had expected annoyance and anger certainly, but what the townsfolk had exhibited was something that went past anger and well into fanatical rage. They had acted as though he had murdered one of their children in the street for Dibella's sake!

Perhaps what the more 'cultured' of Tamriel had to say about the Nord's relationship with their livestock held some water after all. Even that speculation, as ridiculous as it might be, was more solid than the insulting explanation he had gotten from Ralof, perhaps the only sane Nord Mordyn had met so far in his ill-fated journey North.

A lack of eggs for breakfast indeed! What kind of simpleton did the man take him for? He had seen the look in their eyes. There was something darker at work here. An enchantment perhaps…or some kind of cult centred around chickens? Either one still sounded rather far-fetched. Whatever the answer was it was clear that the mystery needed further investigation.

Scrambling down a ledge he finally dropped to the road. According to Ralof he would be at Whiterun before the end of the day if he just kept to the road. At least that was something in his favour. Any further and he would have run out of the supplies Ralof had provided him.

His journey down the road was largely uneventful. Two bold wolves decided to attack him before he scared them off with a flash of fire. It seemed strange that wolf attacks were so frequent along the main road, especially with the abundance of wildlife that Mordyn kept seeing skittering and prancing along the road.

Cresting the hill and looking below into a large valley he believed he could see a large man-made structure nestled by the river with some farms spotted along the outskirts. That would be Whiterun then.

Moving further down the road Mordyn passed an Imperial patrol escorting what appeared to be a Stormcloak prisoner. He remembered back to the previous night when he had pledged his support to Ralof and the Stormcloak's cause. A twinge of guilt shot through him which he hastily quashed. Perhaps he had been a bit harsh towards Ralof who, despite the insanity of his village and family, had still tried to help him escape, both from the Imperials and Riverswood. Still given the situation Mordyn still felt justified in his anger.

Not feeling particularly enamoured with either the Nords or Imperials at the moment Mordyn decided to pass them by without any fuss. Besides taking on three heavily armed soldiers with an iron dagger and two close range spells was probably not the best idea. The Nord looked at him with pleading eyes, but Mordyn resolutely ignored him, nodding politely to the Imperials.

"Good morning gentlemen."

"Stay out of trouble Breton," growled one of the Imperials in response, "The roads have been dangerous of late. Not enough men to spare for patrols."

Promising that he would, Mordyn continued past catching the muffled curse the Nord spat at him before he was cuffed by the guard behind him.

The Breton in question, who was trying as well as he could to stay out of trouble thank you very much, was now approaching the outlying farms surrounding what he assumed to be Whiterun. The first one he came to had a sign posted outside declaring it to be Honningbrew Meadery, brewer of the Nordish mead responsible for his and Ralof's conditions the previous night. He carefully circumvented the meadery and continued down the road to the next farm.

Mordyn grew quite alarmed as upon his approach the ground began to shake. Ducking behind a nearby low stone wall he gazed fearfully around, hoping to Oblivion that the dragon that had attacked Helgen was not the source of the quake. Catching the sound of battle from nearby Mordyn identified the source of the shaking to be an enormous humanoid creature wielding a club. He had heard of the giants in the North, but never imagined that they would be quite so big. When people said they were as tall as a house it was meant to be an exaggeration not a damned understatement!

At the giant's feet three Nordish warriors were engaged in combat with the beast, two of them bearing the brunt of its attacks while another filled it with arrows from behind. Mordyn quickly considered his options. He supposed that simply walking on down the road and minding his own business while the warriors engaged in mortal combat with a beast intent on destroying a family's home was out of the question.

Sighing he heaved himself over the wall and readied his dagger and flames spell. If he was lucky he could hit it with a surprise attack from behind, although he wasn't sure how much damage his dagger, or even his magic for that matter, could inflict on an opponent of that size. Sneaking closer he moved through a row of cabbage to come up behind the giant. One of the warriors, a giant in his own right, wielding a greatsword noticed his arrival and began shouting defiantly at the beast to draw its attention.

As he drew closer Mordyn could see that the giant had already sustained considerable damage from the warriors' assault. It looked to be on its last legs, but was still stubbornly remaining upright and keeping its vitals out of reach. Perhaps all it would take…. ponderously Mordyn strolled up behind the giant and slashed through its Achilles tendon.

Roaring in pain the giant turned to examine the perpetrator of its wound and in doing so, put itself off balance, dropping like a felled tree it hit the ground with a thunderous crash. The man with the greatsword was quick to dispatch it, stabbing down through its head. Panting and laboriously removing the sword from his fallen foe the large man turned to regard him solemnly.

"Not bad," he commented gruffly as he stooped to wipe the blood from his blade off on the loincloth of the fallen giant.

The other warriors gathered around their comrade. The women who had been providing support with her bow came to the fore to look Mordyn up and down appraisingly.

"Not often we find a potential shield-brother with a fully functioning brain," she remarked before turning to the large fellow with the sword, "Take note Farkas. Instead of mindlessly hacking away it might help to try aiming for a weak point."

"Don't fix what ain't broken," Farkas replied, "Mindlessly hacking hasn't failed me so far."

"Regardless you handled yourself well stranger," she said turning to Mordyn, "I wasn't sure that beast was ever going to go down."

"Well it looked like you three had most of the work done…one strike of a dagger isn't really that much of a contribution," he replied awkwardly.

Now that he could see her up close the archer was one of the more attractive women he had met since arriving in Skyrim. Of course his experience so far had been limited to Legate Rikke and the backwards folk of Riverwood. Still she was beautiful even by the standards of what he had seen in other regions during his travels. Not to mention that she exuded a wildness that he found extremely intriguing.

"The danger is still there regardless of how wounded they are," stated the woman, "A giant in its death throes isn't a pleasant experience."

"Aela," the other woman called her, "We had best report back to Kodlak. He will want to know that the matter is dealt with."

Aela nodded in assent before turning back to Mordyn.

"If you're headed to Whiterun why don't you accompany us?" she asked, "Perhaps you might consider joining the Companions?"

"I'd be glad for some company," said Mordyn falling in stride with the warriors as they set off for the city, "but I don't know how well suited I would be for mercenary work…"

"The Companions are no mere mercenaries!" Aela snapped angrily, "We fight for coin, but also for glory. We're well respected in Skyrim. It is a great honor. There is no real reason for you to not consider-"

She broke off as she noticed Mordyn's attire for the first time. He was still dressed in the mages robes that he had found in the torturer's chambers in Helgen.

"Ah…a mage are you?" she asked sourly, her expression turning downward, "Still if you ever think to pick up a blade the offer still stands."

Mordyn had known that Nords were generally sceptical of magic, but the way Aela dismissed him still hurt.

"Any reason why one can't join the companions and use magic to complete contracts?" he asked innocently.

Farkas snorted in amusement.

"Magic is for the weak and cowardly," he stated with rock solid conviction, "If you want to be a Companion you need to be able to stand by your shield-brothers and sisters, blade in hand, ready to go toe-to-toe with your foes."

"Well saying it is for the weak certainly can't be true. Sure physically mages aren't usually the most intimidating, but we can make up for it in other ways," explained Mordyn, "Besides in my opinion a mage is generally braver than a warrior."

"How so?" Farkas growled challengingly.

"Well for one," began Mordyn, "I reckon I would feel a lot safer facing enemies in full plate armour rather than a raggedy collection of cloth. Also going up against a foe with your mind and magic as your only weapons can be intimidating especially since we have a finite amount of Magicka. Last I checked huge steel greatswords don't run out."

Farkas's only answer was to stare blankly at Mordyn. In front of them Aela shook her head chuckling.

"Half of your argument went over his head Breton, but I think he gets the gist," she said, "However well you reason it though the fact remains that the Companions are a group of warriors, not mages. So until you pick up a blade your chances of joining us are slim."

"Ah, that's too bad," Mordyn replied wistfully, "I feel like we could have made a great team."

Smirking and shaking her head at his response Aela turned back to trek up the path to Whiterun. The city, or 'hold' as Ralof had called it, didn't look all that impressive to be honest. From outside it seemed more like a wooden fort than anything else. The only structure that looked vaguely majestic was the tower-like building at the back. That would probably be the Jarl's "palace", king slaughterfish of his little pond.

As the group approached the gate Mordyn spotted what appeared to be a gathering of khajiit camped outside the walls. One elderly khajiit called out to them as they passed by.

"Greetings travellers! Why not have a look at Ri'saad's wares? This one has many fine things to offer."

Mordyn stopped to regard the Khajiit quizzically.

"Wouldn't it make more sense to set up shop inside the city?" he asked.

"Ah we would, but the guards do not allow Khajiit inside the walls. They think us all skooma dealers and thieves," answered Ri'saad shaking his head sadly.

"Awfully prejudiced of them to ban an entire race from entering their cities," Mordyn remarked.

"Terribly, these unfounded stereotypes are to the detriment of all Khajiit," Ri'saad concurred, nodding his head sagely.

"Of course," he added, leaning in conspiratorially, "If you were interested Ri'saad might have some moonsugar or some skooma tucked away somewhere. Or maybe we could give you some lessons in pickpocketing or sneaking for a price?"

"Totally unfounded huh?" Mordyn asked dryly.

Ri'saad's answering grin contained entirely too many teeth. Even for a Khajiit.

"Ri'saad thinks it would be best to move on if you have no coin to spend."

Deciding to heed Ri'saad's advice Mordyn followed after Aela and the other two companions. When they arrived at the gate into Whiterun however they were stopped by the guards posted outside.

"Hold! No-one is to enter by order of the Jarl!" declared the guard on the left.

"Leif has your memory gotten that bad already," asked Aela with a hand on her hip, "We passed you not three hours ago. You know…to go deal with the giant's attack on the farms while you two stayed up here?"

"I think what Leif meant to say Companions," replied the guard on the right, "Was that the newcomer is barred entry. At least till the Jarl says otherwise."

"The newcomer helped kill that giant Bjarte. He doesn't deserve to go without a roof over his head tonight," stated Aela moving up to confront the guard.

Mordyn coughed to get the group's attention.

"You know the newcomer has a name."

"Oh?" asked Aela quizzically tilting her head.

"Mordyn Sorick," he declared inclining his head slightly toward Aela before turning back to regard Leif and Fednir, "And I have important news from Helgen about the dragon attack. So if you'll just let me in to see the Jarl I can-"

"Wait…Mordyn Sorick you say?" asked Leif peering closer, "I know you."

"Looks like my reputation precedes me," said Mordyn chuckling, yet suddenly unsure of himself.

"Yeah we got a bounty letter about you from Riverwood. Came in a few hours ago," stated Leif as he reached into his tunic to retrieve the letter in question.

_Oh shit_.

"One Mordyn Sorick, Breton, wanted for the killing of one chicken of Riverwood," read Leif out loud.

"A chicken?" asked Aela incredulously, cocking an eyebrow at Mordyn.

"It was an accident…I was…" he paused realizing that saying one was 'really drunk' when something happened never really bettered anyone's opinion of another. As excuses went it was generally a very poor one.

"You want to take this one?" Leif asked his companion.

"You got this buddy," was Bjarte's reply.

"Very well then," Leif cleared his throat noisily, "You have committed crimes against Skyrim and its people. What say you in your defence?"

"Erm.." began Mordyn as Aela watched on, clearly amused to no end, "Like I said it was an accident…and besides I have news about a dragon that needs to reach the Jarl! Surely that tops any chicken killing that may or may not have occurred?"

"It's a creative excuse. I'll give him that. Makes it seem as if he could be of use to us," said Bjarte, "A lot of people have tried to blame their crimes on the dragon attack lately. Can't tell you how many 'The dragon broke in and stabbed my wife four times with a knife before belting her over the head with a cast iron pot!' or 'the dragon used the Voice to take control of me and made me steal my neighbour's family sword!' excuses we've heard the last couple of days."

He chuckled, shaking his head, "One of my favourites was 'I didn't mean to break into the Jarl's palace at night, but the dragon picked me up and dropped me on the roof!'"

"Okay then. So now you have three choices. You either pay off your bounty or we take you to go rot in a jail cell," Leif paused to place his hand meaningfully atop his hilt, "or you can die."

"Well," interjected Bjarte, "You could try running or fighting…but chances are that means choosing the third one either way."

To make his point clear he pointed upwards where more guards where watching the exchange with interest from the walls. They had upholstered their bows and were talking, pointing excitedly and one of them appeared to be acting as a bookie to take bets. It was clear which option they hoped Mordyn would go with. Apparently Aela shared the same sentiment as the guards.

"The fighting option sounds interesting," she said trying to smother a laugh, "A couple of Whiterun guards should be no trouble for such a _brave_ mage and intrepid killer of chickens such as yourself."

Ignoring her remark Mordyn turned to the guards, "I noticed a fair trial wasn't one of those options."

"Trial?" asked Leif confused, "But you just had your trial!"

"When in Oblivion did that-"

"After Leif asked you what you had to say in your defence and you said it was an accident," explained Bjarte patiently, "We decided that based on the evidence you were guilty."

"That wasn't a trial!" Mordyn spluttered, "A trial is conducted in front of one's peers, with a representative and a judge! There's a process involved!"

"Listen to him," said Leif sounding hurt, "Talking as if he weren't standing in a gathering of his peers. Or does he think he's too good for us?"

"Well apparently he doubts our ability to judge people at whim as well," added Bjarte sadly, "This is Skyrim justice friend. Happily a much shorter and less messy affair than any Imperial or High Rock court justice."

Skyrim! Why had he ever thought to come up here was beyond him. Would the insanity never end?

Sure back in High Rock a few families from the Mages Guild might still be overly upset after an unfortunate mishap in one of his earlier classes that had attempted to test their power and control. While his power was certainly not wanting his control was another matter.

He still remembered his humiliation as Gaspar Draconis, their instructor at the time, went from badly burnt apprentice to badly burned apprentice sarcastically asking them what they thought of 'apprentice Sorek's masterful control over his power' before coming lastly to Mordyn, who had received the worst burns from the backlash, and declaring him unfit to learn magic.

If he'd been more powerful perhaps they might have expended the extra effort to teach him control, but he wasn't. Mordyn comfortably straddled the line of being a hassle and not worth the time. Even now he tended to have trouble with control, preferring to stick to simpler spells and limiting his output in order to avoid burning himself to a cinder or some other embarrassing occurrence.

Needless to say the noble families of the singed students weren't too impressed either. They clamoured to have his magicka reserves 'Compacted', an extremely painful process involving magicka damaging potions being force-fed and enchanted apparel (usually manacles or bracers of some kind) being bound in order to reduce their capacity for spell casting. After undergoing this process one would still be able to use magic, but at a level that would keep them at apprentice level for the rest of their days.

Mordyn not being too keen on the idea in general fled to Skyrim, one of the less inhabited areas in Tamriel with a Mages Guild that hardly ever corresponded with its fellows. He had hoped to resume his studies here.

Seemed trouble was intent on following him wherever he went however. Sensing that arguing the idea of a trial any further would be fruitless Mordyn tried a different tack.

"Erm you mentioned something about paying off a bounty?" he asked.

"Yes," declared Leif, fishing out the bounty letter once again, "Bounty set at: one hundred and fifty Septims."

"One hundred and fifty!?" Mordred near screamed in frustration, "Over one Daedra blasted chicken?"

"Yes well," amended Leif as he squinted to read some fine print at the bottom of the bounty, "Says here you resisted arrest."

"They weren't trying to arrest me! There aren't even any guards in Riverwood! They were trying to kill me! Aren't there any laws against vigilante justice?" he was shouting now.

"Well no…of course not," answered Leif slightly confused.

"Every Nord should do their part to uphold the peace," added Bjarte as if it were only rational, "Anyway judging by your reaction I'd guess you don't have the septims."

Mordyn looked desperately around for some avenue of escape before settling on Aela and the other Companions fixing them with a pleading look.

"Nope sorry Mordyn," she said cheerily, "Not my hard earned septims."

The others simply shook their heads in refusal.

"You'll take him in then Bjarte?" asked Leif as the aforementioned guard moved to seize Mordyn.

"Will do Leif," he answered grabbing Mordyn and proceeding to bind his hands.

"Well look at it this way Mordyn," said Aela as she pushed through the doors into Whiterun, "At least now you'll get that roof over your head you deserve. Who'd have thought killing a chicken would have impressed the guards more than a giant?"

_Bitch_, he thought vindictively as Bjarte secured the binding.

"Welcome to Whiterun by the way," Bjarte added politely before frogmarching Mordyn towards the dungeon.


	3. Nordic Hospitality

**Sorry for the delay. Had job/study related issue to sort out (though I was the one that ended up getting sorted out). Upside is I have quite a bit of time on my hands now and updates will be coming a lot faster.**

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><p>On their way to the Dragonsreach prison Mordyn was given a brief guide to Whiterun courtesy of Bjarte. The guard explained that it was a newly adopted policy of the guards to help newcomers navigate the hold capitals, small as they might be. Apparently it was part of the reforms introduced by Imperials as part of a Cyrodillic tradition, one that Bjarte wasn't enthralled by at all as evidenced by his brusque explanation as they walked down the cobbled street.<p>

"Barracks," he said simply nodding to his left as they came in through the gates.

"Blacksmith," he elaborated further nodding to his right.

Bjarte's insight into the heart and soul of Whiterun was interrupted by a large blonde Nord in Imperial armour who strode up to the still restrained Mordyn. The man carried himself with an amount of pride that bordered dangerously close to what Mordyn would describe as obnoxiously self-opinionated.

"Gray-mane or Battle-born?" he asked.

Mordyn stared at the man blankly before turning to look questioningly at Bjarte. The guard merely shrugged, uninterested in the situation. Returning his gaze to the Nord legionnaire Mordyn realized that the man had the words '_Property of Idolaf Battle-born of Whiterun' _sown onto the front of his leather breastplate. Upon even closer inspection there was a badge with '_Tulius IV life'_ sown in pink thread.

"Battle-born?" Mordyn guessed.

Idolaf smiled broadly and slapped the prisoner on the back, telling him that they would get along just fine before sauntering off to the blacksmith. Mordyn's questions involving what in Oblivion that man had been on about were not apparently part of the Whiterun guard's new policy to keeping newcomers informed as Bjarte carried on as if the exchange hadn't happened. The pair preceded through the market place with Bjarte naming the different structures as tersely as possible.

People in the market-place gave the pair the occasional odd, very slightly curious look before returning to their business. As they ascended a small flight of stairs headed towards the centre of Whiterun a Redguard man in expensive attire passing by stopped to ask them a question he assured the guard was of vital importance.

"Do you get to the Cloud District very often?" he asked, before a satisfied smirk crossed his features, "Oh, what am I saying, of course you don't."

Bjarte sighed heavily, "Did you really need to stop us for that Nazeem? This criminal here only got into the city today. Of course he hasn't been to the Cloud District."

"Well guardsman I am just ensuring that the riff raff knows its place," Nazeem retorted, "Not just anyone should be allowed to go prancing through the Cloud District."

"Now, now Nazeem we all know how you prefer to be alone when you go prancing through the Cloud District," Bjarte said in a placating manner, "But there's no restriction on who may or may not visit the Cloud District. In fact I was going to take the prisoner past on the way to the dungeon."

The Redguard, seemingly coming to the sudden realization that he was far too important to fraternize with a mere guard and prisoner, merely sniffed derisively and continued on his way.

"Are all the people in Whiterun so…outgoing?" Mordyn asked in lack of a more accurate descriptor for the two clearly deranged denizens they'd just encountered.

If Bjarte's face had been visible Mordyn would have sworn that the man's expression darkened considerably.

"Well," he began hesitantly, "It does get worse."

Before he could ask what Bjarte meant by that they reached the top of the stairs and the meaning became immediately and ear-piercingly clear to Mordyn. In his travels Mordyn had heard his fair share of offensive sounds, the scream of a dying horse, the sound Khajiit sometimes make when coughing up a hairball and of course, the most recent addition, a dragon bearing down with fire and fury. None of these experiences even came close to what he now encountered.

The most beautiful part of the city, a majestic withered tree as a centrepiece to a dais with a peaceful stream running the circumference, dwindled to a furious point of light as a migraine brought on by the voice threatening to blot out the rest of his senses. It somehow managed to be booming and warbling at the same time, a tenor so out of tune that it struck notes that seemingly struck back judging by the hoarse quality of the orator.

Underlying all these already so undesirable qualities was the fervent pitch of fanaticism that tied the whole ordeal together in a complete, cringe-worthy package.

"We are but maggots, writhing in the filth of our own corruption!" screeched the priest from the small shrine at the end of the way, making himself heard to all visiting the tree.

Ah corruption, maggots and writhing. Such delightful imagery to recruit people to your cause. Religion would probably be a more attractive concept to Mordyn if it didn't involve such copious amounts of self-flagellation and burning in Oblivion.

"That would be Heimskr," said Bjarte, risking losing an eardrum by removing on of his hands from his ears to point the man out to Mordyn, "Our local priest of Talos."

Mordyn had heard murderers at the gallows introduced more warmly.

"If you don't mind," Bjarte shouted over the din, "I'll just skip this part of the tour and we'll head straight for the dungeons. Besides the only real noteworthy attraction here is Jorrvaskr, home to the companions."

Looking up at the building Bjarte had indicated Mordyn could see that it was indeed home to the Companions as evidenced by a scowling Aela standing outside the structure looking as though she wanted nothing more than to put an arrow through the priest's throat. Upon seeing Mordyn bound and being led by the guard her features notably brightened. She gave him yet another spiteful wave before retreating into Jorrvaskr to be clear of the noise.

Bjarte and Mordyn moved quickly past Heimskr and up the granite steps to Dragonsreach. Once they were mercifully out of earshot of the bellowing priest Mordyn turned to his captor.

"So why do they call it Dragonsreach? Did this place use to be home to dragons?" he asked.

Bjarte turned thoughtful before answering.

"Well, all of Skyrim was once home to dragons back in the days of old, but Dragonsreach gets its name from the role it played when man began to fight back," he answered, "Legends tell that the palace was used to trap a mighty dragon during the war on the wyrms hence the name."

Mordyn raised a sceptical brow at that.

"The palace? Really? It looks rather too wooden and flammable to be any use as a dragon trap."

"It's the other side I think," Bjarte said ponderously, "That was the dragon trap I mean, more stonework and less wood on the other side."

"Alright fair enough," said Mordyn ceding the point, "But why 'Dragonsreach' then and not 'Dragontrap' or 'Dragon's Demise' or something like that? It sounds more like a home to a dragon than a trap for one."

Bjarte laughed and shook his head, "Well it wouldn't be much of a trap if we called it one would it? Better to let the dragons think it's a home to them before the cage snaps shut."

Mordyn grimaced, "Of course, how foolish of me. Wouldn't want to tip them off would we?"

Happy that Mordyn understood the guard continued escorting his prisoner towards the keep. Instead of proceeding through the large ornate doors he led the Breton along the side of the structure towards a back entrance.

"No chance that I get an audience with the Jarl?" asked Mordyn sourly, "Not even to warn of a possible dragon attack?"

"Nope," Bjarte replied cheerily.

The dungeons of Dragonsreach were not too far from what Mordyn had expected. They had the fairly standard dank and dark look going with the added benefit of cramped living conditions filled with the smell of human waste and despair. The human bones scattered on the floor that seemed to have been neglected during whatever kind of clean up schedule this place had, if any existed, really tied the place together in that 'where-did-I-go-wrong-to-find-myself-in-this-hell-hole' kind of way.

As far as being inducted as a prisoner went it was a fairly simple procedure. Firstly everything that Mordyn was carrying was confiscated. He was then stripped down and handed his very own one-size-fits-all burlap sack as well as some rags that appeared to be shoes of some kind. To conclude Bjarte politely said farewell before shoving him into an already occupied cell, slamming the door shut and locking it tight.

Groaning Mordyn rolled onto his side to warily regard his cellmate. The other man was a balding middle-aged Nord who appeared to be still well muscled under a padding of fat. He appeared to be sitting on top of an iron grate on the floor. It looked rather uncomfortable. The man smiled faintly.

"Bit of an overcrowding situation in the dungeons it seems. Funny how easy it is to wind up in a cell these days isn't it?"

"Err yeah," replied Mordyn, still a bit cautious of the large man.

"Name's Knoril," he said, "I could tell you a few stories. All I did was steal a couple'a horse shoes, figured I'd worked my way up to actual horses, though now that I've had time to reflect it probably would have been better practice to steal something actually alive. Goats or chickens maybe."

Mordyn got up and brushed himself down choosing not to comment on the mention of chickens, "Mordyn's my name…so when you say you've had time to reflect, how much time exactly?"

Knoril looked thoughtful as he began an internal tally.

"Eight months? Maybe a year and a bit? Hard to tell and harder to keep count with me not really knowing my numbers that well. Don't think any of the guards are any better with figures than I am."

Mordyn looked at his cellmate incredulously, "A year long sentence? Over the theft of an item that barely costs more than a couple of coins?"

"Well don't know how long a sentence I really got. Just sort of locked me in here without saying anything," explained Knoril, "I didn't get the worst of it though. The lad in the cell across from us has been here longer than I have for stealing nails."

"I'm sorry…nails?"

"Yeah nails, these long pointy bits of metal, useful for a lot of things. Horseshoes need 'em too apparently though I wasn't actually aware of that when I was-"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Mordyn hurriedly, "I know what nails are, but why nails?"

"Ah an educated man I see," said Knoril, "Well apparently his da and him were building something and da asked the son to nip round to the blacksmith to pick up some more nails, but the lad forgot the coin so he just grabbed a few of'fa the table and here he is."

"But that's horrendous!" Mordyn exclaimed, "How can they lock someone up for over a year for such a petty crime?"

Knoril shrugged, "Don't rightly know. System don't always work that well. It's pretty black and white here in Skyrim, crime is crime, big or small."

"What about paying off his bounty?" Mordyn asked, "surely it couldn't have been more than a few septims?"

"Their family was strapped for septims unfortunately. Besides the boy's da thought he needed to learn a lesson."

"But that's not just," replied Mordyn grinding his teeth in frustration, "This isn't right! What can we do?"

Again the man shrugged, "Not much to do, but pass the time. Best way is to sleep through it. Once you get the hang of it you can sleep for days at a time. You'd think one could spend the time constructively, maybe build up a skill or two or at least work your muscles, but things like that tend to rot in here."

Mordyn shook his head in dismay. This was even worse than he'd imagined. Saying the system was broken was an understatement. It was seemingly beyond repair, made even worse by the apathy of the people and the guards. How could they punish petty crime so harshly?

Incensed Mordyn began pacing back and forth in the cell. Knoril looked up at him with amusement playing over his features.

"No use in getting yourself worked up over it," he said, "Best to get some rest, I'll even let you use the bed. Looks like you could use it."

Mordyn realized then that he was indeed tired. He had hardly slept the night before as he had waited for the pursuing villagers to give up their chase and with the events of the day he found himself physically and mentally drained. He couldn't even muster up a mock polite refusal of the use of what appeared to be the only bed in the cell before crashing into it and falling promptly asleep.

And despite the tribulations of the last day and a half Mordyn slept well. When he finally woke it was dark, but he felt refreshed and full of vigour. There was also a dead man lying on top of the iron grate in the cell.

"Knoril!" he cried as he rushed to the prone man's side to check if there was any sign of life. As he turned the body over to examine him however he was shocked to find that it was an entirely different person.

"Ri'saad did not know that you knew your assassin on a first name basis. Perhaps this one should have allowed him to kill you."

Mordyn started, swiftly turning to face the khajiit whose presence he had not noticed before, sitting quietly in the corner. The elderly Khajiit favoured him with a toothy grin. It was the same Khajiit he had met outside the gates of Whiterun. Ri'saad his name had been if Mordyn remembered correctly, although even if he had forgotten he was sure the Khajiit would remind him near every time he spoke."

"You killed this man?" Mordyn asked, "Why? Where did Knoril go?"

Ri'saad cocked his head curiously, "The dead man is not your Knoril? Well Ri'saad does not know if it is better to know or not know the name of one who tried to kill you."

"He tried to kill me?" Mordyn asked, "Then you-"

"Stopped him? Indeed. Most permanently."

"Why was he trying to kill me?"

To this Ri'saad simply shrugged and began picking at his teeth. His claws were stained red.

"This one could not say. Only that shortly after Ri'saad arrived in this cell the man who is now dead arrived. Not long after he produced a shiv and went for you while you slept. Ri'saad stopped him."

"Wait so this man came in after you?" asked Mordyn confused, "Was there anyone besides me in the cell when you arrived?"

Ri'saad shook his head, "Only you sleeping peacefully on the cot. Ri'saad decided not to wake you. You slept soundly enough to not wake during the struggle, brief as it was."

Mordyn sat up in the bed with his head in his hands struggling to come to terms with what had occurred. Why was it that as soon as he began to acclimate to whatever insanity he was put through in this Divine forsaken land he found himself caught off guard once again? It felt as if he had woken up four years later or even somewhere not on Nirn.

Who would try to have him killed? And for what? Had the Riverwood townsfolk gone so far as to hire a contracted killer? He supposed he should be thankful that it hadn't been a brotherhood assassin they'd sent after him or he'd be sleeping in the pool of his own blood right now. Although the quality of hired killer would have hardly mattered if Ri'saad had not arrived in time.

"So wait," began Mordyn still trying to make sense of the new situation, "How exactly did you land up in here? I thought you were fine as long as you stayed outside of the city."

"Ah yes, well it so happens that the guards and Ri'saad tend to play a game from time to time," explained Ri'saad with his signature pointed grin, "They conduct a 'random' search and confiscate some of Ri'saad's more…illicit goods and throw him in the dungeons. They hope to resell the goods to turn a profit for themselves, but Ri'saad always escapes and takes back his merchandise, along with whatever else he can carry."

"The guards sell skooma?"

"Ri'saad finds it understandable considering the guards aren't paid all that much," the old Khajiit said, "If nothing else Ri'saad respects their entrepreneurial spirit, although they have much to learn still. Lesson number one is to not cross someone wilier than you."

"So they take your skooma then you use being arrested to get into the city to steal their things?" asked Mordyn, "No grounds for the stereotype huh?"

"Very hurtful indeed," concurred Ri'saad.

Mordyn smirked at his answer before realizing that the two of them had a far more pressing matter at hand.

"But by the Divines Ri'saad I appreciate you saving me, but what will the guards do when they find out you've killed someone?" he hissed as he rushed to check if there were any guards were listening in on their conversation. As it so happened one was.

"Mind keeping it down prisoner?" asked the guard politely, "I'm trying to get some shut-eye in before my night shift at the market place."

Mordyn started back from the bars.

"Wait so you know Ri'saad murdered this man?"

The guard peered into the cell and scratched at his stubble under his helmet.

"Yeah, but what do you want me to do about it? I mean he's already in the cell and the punishment for murder is being locked up. Can't really throw him further into a cell now can we?"

"So your punishment for a capital offense is the same for as the one for petty thievery?" Mordyn asked incredulously.

"Look here prisoner, if you're unhappy with being locked up with the Khajiit just play nice with it. We slopped a bucket of water at it and told it to knock off the murdering so there's a good chance it'll leave you be. Them cats hate water, isn't that right Khajiit?"

"Yes guardsman," hissed Ri'saad with flattened ears and clenched fangs, "Ri'saad has learned his lesson."

Nodding in satisfaction the guardsman returned to his stool and moments later was fast asleep. Ri'saad turned to Mordyn, a sudden bright and pointed grin blooming on the Khajiit's features.

"Now that the oaf is asleep how you would like to participate in the second half of Ri'saad's little game?" he asked, "Mordyn was it? Ri'saad heard you declare so at the gates. Shortly before you were arrested he recalls."

"Yeah it's Mordyn," the Breton replied hesitantly, "By second part of your game do you mean escaping?"

"Of course," affirmed Ri'saad confidently, "As well as reclaiming our belongings along with a commission to cover our collective opportunity loss."

"You know how to get out of here?" Mordyn asked as hope began to stir within him.

The Khajiit smiled knowingly as he strode over to the dead man and nudged him with a foot to roll him over and expose the metal grate.

"Security in Whiterun isn't exactly state of the art," Ri'saad said with his widest grin yet.

The Khajiit merchant produced a lockpick and anchor from somewhere in his rags and looked expectantly at Mordyn.

"Well friend? Shall we depart?"

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><p><strong>AN For those that have had the pleasure of visiting the Dragonsreach Dungeons the dead man on the grate should be familiar. For those who haven't go check it out. There is literally a dead body in your cell lying on top of the way to escape without any explanation. Ludicrous.**

**Also if you were thinking that the sentences described by Knoril are far too long to be considered feasible bear in mind that there is a conspiracy afoot.**


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